Promises
by InsaneInk
Summary: He said that I might have to kill you, Sammy." Dean goes to fulfill his promises, no matter how much he doesn't want to. ONESHOT. Evil!Sam


Uhh, don't kill me for this guys. I know I need to update other things, like Intermission and Re-Changing Channels, but I've been hit with a serious case of writer's block. I can't even write for SPN BigBang, which fustrates me beyond belief. This just struck me while I was watching an "Are you watching Supernatural" Promo vid....and I have no clue where it came from.

So enjoy some evil!Sam and desperate!Dean.

* * *

It shouldn't have been like this.

It never should've come to this.

And yet, it has to be done.

Dean knows it has to be done, but it doesn't mean he wants to do it.

The least Dean can hope for is that Sam understands that. If Sam is still in there. Dean doesn't want to, he doesn't want it to end like this _so badly,_ but if he doesn't.

So much more will be lost.

Dean wipes his palm on his pants, tightens his grip on the Colt, and with it his resolve. He aims, steady, until the gun is flying from his hand and into Sam's, into Sam's bloodstained hand, and above it, Sam's demon yellow eyes.

He's lifted out of his hiding spot, brought to a stop a few feet from Sam and forced to watch his brother hold the Colt in one hand and the blade Dean gave him for his thirteenth birthday in the other.

The blade was impractical for battle, bought from a fantasy weapon store and meant as a joke but Sam loved it. Impractical, unless you're beheading virgin girls for demonic rituals.

Dean tries to ignore the bodies he's held over and the congealing pools of blood, ignores the fact he was to late to save them.

"So nice of you to show Dean."

Dean can't stand his brother's voice now; it grates and bends, heavy like rough metal and coiling like serpent at the same time, completely unnatural, even for demons.

"Well I'm not a demon, Dean, not exactly."

Dean doesn't reply, it's not Sam, he tells himself. It's not his brother. Can't be.

Sam is not like this; Sam doesn't kill innocent people, or drink demon blood for kicks. Sam doesn't roam the United States seeking out every hunter to bleed them dry while he listens to them scream.

Not Sam.

The thing, the thing that looks like Sam laughs, low and throaty. The sound reminds Dean of a car crash. It makes his ears bleed.

"You just can't accept it can you? _I am Sam._"

The thing lets go of the Colt, but it doesn't hit the ground like it should. It hangs in the air, waiting, listening to a silent command. Dean tries to watch it float there, but his eyes are forced to watch the thing that isn't Sam.

"I am the same Sam you taught to read, the same Sam that you drove to school, the same Sam you pulled from a burning building twice, and the same Sam that is here."

Dean glares at the not-Sam.

"Sam doesn't kill people."

Not-Sam just smiles. That makes Dean's stomach twist into a thousand knots.

"He does now."

There are demons behind Sam, grinning silently and waiting for not-Sam's command.

"Did you come here to keep your promise Dean? Or to follow your orders like a good boy?"

It should bother Dean, how not-Sam pokes at his loyalty to the family, but Dean is already overwhelmed. He's ready to get this over with and put the Colt to his own skull.

"Which is it Dean?"

Dean hangs there in not-Sam's invisible hold, a cold emptiness spreading throughout his body.

Not-Sam's sulfur yellow eyes grind into Dean's head, rage building behind the stare. Not-Sam's voice is like napalm, dangerous and cool. "Dean."

"Both."

That seems to be the wrong answer, because not-Sam flicks his wrist and the Colt smacks into his palm, the slick blade taking the Colt's place in midair.

Not-Sam walks up to Dean, stepping _on top of the bodies, _bones cracking underneath not-Sam's weight, and stares Dean in the eye.

Dean feels his right arm go loose, released from its hold, something cold and metallic sliding into his palm. Not-Sam curls his fingers around the gun, places Dean's finger on the trigger and drags the barrel up to his heart.

"Can you do it? Go on Dean, keep your promise. Kill your brother. Make daddy happy in his grave!"

Dean closes his eyes, knows full well what he's going to do.

"I'm sorry Sam."

The yellow flickers out of not-Sam's eyes, familiar hazel coming into view and guilt radiating from their depths before the yellow slides back into place, patient and nonchalant about the gun pointed at his chest.

Before not-Sam can react, Dean yanks the gun to his own head and pulls the trigger.

There's pain, but it only last for a few seconds, Dean hears a broken cry from somewhere, thinks _My Sam, _before there's nothing to see or hear anymore.

He doesn't have to decide after all.

* * *

**R&R~ **

**-Grace**


End file.
